Ana, your father says,
where is the vase
your grandma gave to me?

You look at him
with your large eyes.
Not seen it, maybe

it is in the lounge
with the others?
You say.

No, I have looked there,
it is not there,
he says,

then I do not know,
Papa, you say,
looking away,

trying not to show it
in your big brown eyes,
your childlike lies.

He sighs, doesn't look
in your eyes, maybe
knowing somehow,

that you broke
the family heirloom,
but not wanting

to push it too far,
waits until you regain
your conscience to say,

if not now,
then some other day.

Milka  wanted
to have ***
in the hay barn

but she feared
the rats and mice
or her father

finding out
and tanning
her backside

the colour
of sunset
so we went

to the cinema
and saw Elvis
with jangling guitar

and swinging hips
and after
we went  

to the park
and sat
on a bench

and watched
the ducks swim
but the hay barn

would have been better
despite the rats
or mice

or the tanned
backside
the colour

of sunset
she said
I bet.

Della lays in bed.
The moon is full
shines through the
window. Her mother

seemed angry, about
her getting into the
car, with the man who
was her mother's friend.

Shouting voice, long words.
The police questioned
the man about it, but
nothing was done, so

he was released with
a warning, not to pick
her up again. She liked
the car. The seat was

comfortable. Springy
over bumps. The man
said: do you want to see
the ducks? She likes ducks,

like the colours, the way
they seem to glide on water.
The man said that she was
very pretty, she liked it

being said she was pretty,
many tell her she's ugly,
a duckling, a plump *****,
whatever that was. She

watches as the moon seems
to drift across the window,
clouds cover it and uncover
it like a magic trick, she smiles.

The man said she had nice
legs and eyes. She liked  him
for saying nice things. Some
boys at school call her monkey

face. She saw the man's hand
touching her leg. She thought
his hand was warm, soft touching.
He never said anything about

her being Downs. He never
seemed to mind her tongue
sitting on her lower lip when
she spoke, never made fun of her

as some girls did when she spoke
to them. She liked seeing the ducks,
the colours, the way they swam.
He held her hand. He said in case

she fell and her mother would be
worried. His hand was hairy, the
hairs tickled her. After the ducks
he put her seatbelt on, leaning over

her. He said her perfume was lovely.
He was kind to kiss her hand; some
boys squeeze it to make her cry.
Her mother is angry, she hasn't told

her mother about the man kissing;
she got so angry about the car ride.
She said nothing more. Looked at
the fire in her mother's eyes; her

shouty voice hurt her ears. She
closes her eyes. The police lady
asked her questions. Some words
she didn't know, she just shook

her head, said nothing more.
Her mother wide eyed crying.
All because of a car ride. Della
liked the car, the colours, the

smell of leather on the seats.
The man had a nice smell; his
voice soft and deep. She hears
the wind outside. Time to sleep.

All that Yakety yak,
Won’t bring the dead men back
Or cease the widow’s tears
Or the young girl’s sad fears,

Said Baldbrush, but that’s what
Happens after a while,
Once a war reaches a
Certain peak or enough’s

Been done and sufficient
Killed to make any peace
A viable option
And the primed pens be held

And the peace papers signed.
It’s that way in all wars,
Whatever the men of
History say or their

Pens write, it was that way
In Nam, and as before,
People dying, maimed, things
Done darkly as if

Insanity had held
All in its frightening
Hold, the weak and the young,
The elderly with their

Brittle frail frames and the
Brave with their forgotten
Names, sunk in the dark fields
Of battles and lost wars.

All and all in the dying dream,
And the lost girls scream for the pretty years,
And the fears of light has scraped their bones

To tones of harsh and brutal sounds.
All and all in the breaking dawn,
The dead and born have shed their skins

For the seeping sins of he and she,
Who groped to be with flesh and lust,
Who rust their souls in damp and dust,

And must, might, and sickly kiss
The mouldy miss of dames and such,
And loved her sad and all too much.

It's snowing,
Yiska says.

She's looking out
the window
of the locked ward.

I stand
just behind her,
peering over
her shoulder,
watching the large
flakes fall
in a steady flow.

Trees opposite
are becoming covered;
they look like brides
about to get married.

The fields beyond
are white, not green.

Picturesque from in here,
I say.

She runs a finger
down the pane,
a slim finger,
white/pink skin,
the nail chewed.

What was it like
on the day
you were to marry?
I ask.

Bright, sunny,
almost cloudless.

Bet you were glad
it didn't snow.

She looks back at me.

I wouldn't have cared less
if he had turned up
and not left me there
dressed up
like a doll abandoned.

I guess not,
sorry to
have reminded you.

She sighs,
looks back
at the snow.

Not your fault
he didn't show.

I shouldn't have
reminded you.

It's always there,
anyway,
like some dark
black nightmare.

We watch
the falling snow
in a few moments
of silence.

I can smell soap
about her,
maybe shampoo;
it invades my nose.

I close my eyes.

Sense her
just before me,
as if my senses
had fingers,
but not my fingers,
but invisible fingers
reaching out to her.

Don't think
I can trust
another man
to get me
down the aisle.

I open my eyes,
see her hair,
long,
unbrushed.

I would not
have jilted you.

It wasn't you
I was going to marry.

No, I guess not.

The snow falls harder;
I can hardly see
the trees now.

She looks back at me.

Want a cigarette?
she asks.

I nod.

She takes a packet
out of her
dressing gown pocket
and takes one
for herself
and gives one
to me.

She lights them
with a yellow
plastic lighter.

How'd you managed
to keep the lighter;
thought they took  
such things away
in case you try
and set yourself alight?

I liberated it
out of the staffroom
the other night.

We stand and smoke
and watch
the heavy fall
of snow.

Behind us,
others enter the room,
their voices talking
of the snow,
how heavy it is.

We can sense
their coming near us
like invading armies
on virgins lands,
unaware
we're holding hands.

Put your hand here
Yiska said

she took my hand
and placed it
on her stomach

it was soft
even through
the white school blouse
it was warm

I gazed at her
lying there
on the sports field grass
beside me
in lunchtime recess

the sound of other kids
on the field
ball games
tag games
others near by
talking
some laughing

what's it feel like?
she asked

a jelly
I replied

press a bit
she said

I pressed a little
my hand sinking inward
what's it feel like for you?
I asked

sensual
warming
she said
up higher  

she lifted my hand higher
just beneath
her tight small *******
and held it there

I feel your heart
I said

what else?
she smiled

a couple of small mounds
I said
what's it like for you?

like my heart
is going to break out
and sing
she said

I gazed over
her shoulder
a prefect was walking
our way
his beady eyes focusing
on us

best move apart
I said
the Gestapo are about

she moved away from me
just as the prefect
arrived at our feet

what are you two doing?
he said

talking about
the birds and bees
I said

looks like more
than that
he said
staring at Yiska

more than what?
she asked

more than talking
looked like he was
doing things
the prefect said

doing things?
Yiska said
what do you mean
doing things?

she sat up
and pulled down
her skirt
over her knees

the prefect looked at me
were you?

what?

doing things?

we were talking

and the rest
he said
I saw you
put your hand
on her

did I?
I asked Yiska

not that I remember
she said

the prefect  stared
at us both
then back towards
the school

well don't
he said
I’ll be watching

and he walked off
hands behind his back
his broad shoulders swaying

she smiled
eyes everywhere
she said

we lay back down
and gazed at the sky

I like puffy clouds
she said
they make funny shapes
sometimes

she pointed
with her thin finger
at the blue sky and clouds

I gazed at her finger
the pinky nail

that one
looks like an old man
in a bath
she said

I looked at the sky
that one's
like two dogs
*******
I said

the sports field echoed
with the sound
of her loud laugh.

She sat there
on the gate
at the back

the black skirt
raised slightly
showing knees

her white blouse
unbuttoned
at the top

a warm sun
on her head
of neat hair

she waited
for Benny
balancing

herself there
next door's mutt
barked at her

go away
she bellowed
Benny came

shooed the mutt
o it's you
why're you here?

fine welcome
Lizbeth said
all this way

to see you
didn't know
you'd be here

he told her
she climbed down
from the gate

and stood there
her small *******
pushing out

on the cloth
of her blouse
well I'm here

aren't you pleased?
she asked him
course I am

just surprised
that you're here
where to go

that's the thing
where we can
be alone

and do things
do what things?
he asked her

you know what
don't pretend
you don't know

she replied
the sun shone
on her head

and shoulders
reflected
in her eyes

(yes he knew
what she meant
but he said)

I don't know
what you mean
Benny lied.

Sonya sleeps
I watch her
laying there

beside her
the moonlight
highlights her

pale features
we'd made love
more than once

now she sleeps
solo dreams
I'm awake

watching her
wondering
whom she loved

before me
she doesn't
speak of one

in her past
maybe I'm
the first one

whose made love
to this dame
maybe not

just unknown
just out there
another

in his arms
but I'm here
watching her

as she sleeps
the hot ***
simmering

on my skin
as she dreams
her hot ***

deep within.

Miss Pinkie
pours me scotch
in a glass

any ice?

no thank you
I slip slow
allowing
to swirl round
my twenty six
year old mouth

she sits down
beside me

she wears that
polka dot
red short dress
and the blue
cardigan
her dyed brown
cropped hair style

want music?

got Mahler?

yes of course
she gets up
and puts on
a Mahler
symphony
on her old
gramophone

as she bends
I spy red
underwear
unattached
to the light
brown stockings

she comes back
and sits down
Mahler starts
lights are low

can I smoke?

sure you can
she replies

I light up
so does she

how is she?
she asks me

who is that?

the slim girl
at the home
pretty thing
all brains but
no knockers
Miss Pinkie
says softly

we just talk
I reply

about what?

poetry
modern art
politics

is that all?

yes that's all

she inhales
and stares cool
exhaling

any ***?

of course not
not with her

why not her?

I don't know

we're silent
Mahler plays
we smoke on
sip whiskies

I study
her two chins
her blue eyes
her thick thighs

the last time
we had ***
she mutters
it was good
on the couch
till you fell
to the floor
half way through

she was right
'bout that night

MAN LIFEBOATS
MAN OVERBOARD
she shouts out
too loudly

she stubs out
the wasted
cigarette
so do I

how about
my big bed?
she asks me

if you like
I reply
thinking of
the slim girl
with the brains
and hot ***
in the back
of her car

that image
in my head
as we walk
to her bed
her plump ****
swaying slow
to Mahler
the moonlight
in the sky

this is how
the world ends
no big bang
just a long
drawn out sigh.

We met by Dunn& Co
the hat people
on the corner
of the New Kent Road

Helen had a faded green dress on
and was carrying her doll
Battered Betty in one arm
her thick lens glasses
were smeary
her brown hair plaited

what are you going to show me?
she asked

have you seen
the pie and eel shop
up the road there?

no don't think so

well this guy stands inside
the shop by the window
and he takes an eel
and cuts its head off
then slits it open
then scraps out its guts
then cuts it up
into pieces ready
to be cooked for pies
I said

she pulled a face
is that
what you wanted
to show me?

yes it's very interesting
and helps you see
how it goes
and is kind
of a biology lesson
without the crabby
old teacher moaning on
I said

Helen was not impressed
I’ll be sick if I see that
he really cuts its head off?

sure he does
and quick and clean
no messing around
and scraps it
into a bin by his feet

Helen held her doll
closer to her chest
and slits it open?

yes he's a quick worker
one slit and all the guts
are scrapped out

enough already
she said

she put a small hand
to her mouth
I hate eels
I hate eel pie
she said
between her fingers
her doll leaned over her arm
its arms hanging loose

so do I
but it's interesting
to see these things

not to me it isn't
she said

ok let's go elsewhere
I said

where?

we could go to The Cut
and look at the market stalls
and maybe get a drink of pop
and an ice cream

she looked down
at her scuffed shoes
I’ve only got 3d
she said

I’ve got 2/-
that'll be enough
I said

she looked at me
through her glasses
her eyes like marbles
ok but we must make sure
Betty gets a drink too
she said

sure
I said
she can share mine

so we set off
from Dunn& Co
at a steady pace

Betty looked unimpressed
bouncing along
in Helen’s arms
one eye hanging loose
her blonde mattered hair

and I listened
while Helen
talked and talked
all the way there.

When she fainted
at the bus stop in the town
and others gathered

around her
you stood watching
anxious of her

being such
but not wanting others
to know of you and she

(her choice)
you stood looking
through the crowd

of what you could
of her
the glimpse

of black hair
the yellow flowered dress
a white sock

then she was up
and someone
brushed her off

Jane gazed at you
pale white
her lips bluish

her dark eyes
black olives
on white plates

and next day(Sunday)
after church
she walked over to you

and(no one noticing)
you and she wandered off
beyond the hedge

her father shaking hands
at the porch of church
her mother talking

of some fete
and the making of cakes
Jane taking your hand

settled by a higher hedge
and whispered
glad you never came

to me yesterday
when I fainted
that would have set

the tongues wagging
I thought that too
you said

she smiled
why did you faint?
you asked

not sure
Mum thinks
it's my time of month

or some such thing
you looked puzzled
unsure what her time

of month was
or what it meant
(13 years old

as both you were)
I see
you said

but didn't
anyway
she said

feel better today
and then she talked
of a butterfly she'd seen

sounding like
some lady or other
you stared at her

the eyes bright
the skin still pale
her hand in yours

the scent of apples
freshly picked
her warmth on yours

her words silk like
whispering to you
and you thought

of the Sunday before
the walk up the Downs
the hand in hand

kind of thing
you thinking
of her nearness

something stirring
within
and she talking

of the spread of flowers
colours
design

petals
and how bees
come and go

and you sensing
each touch of her
skin on skin

her thumb stroking
the back of your hand
then someone called her name

beyond the hedge
over from the church
and letting go

of your hand
she walked back
leaving you to stare

and wonder and wish
as you walked back
another way

the churchyard
with its many dead
the flowers

the smells of summer
and you watching
wanting her instead.

What names
shall we give
our children
when we get older?

Judy asked
as we walked
through the woods
behind the house

towards the lake
(as she called
the pond
in the woods)

I’m no good
with names
I said
you must

have some idea
what names to call
your children
I haven't got children

not yet but when
we're older you will
she said
the trees were

coming into leaf
the sun was straight overhead
birds were flying
from branch to branch

what if it's a girl?
she asked
I thought about
the middle spread picture

of the sports car
in the Eagle comic
I’d just pinned
to my bedroom wall

the parts number
and labelled
colourful
surely

you must have
a girl's name?
she asked
Leonore

I said
what kind of name
is that?
she said

I think it's in
that Beethoven opera
Miss Graham
made us listen to

during lessons
I said
I don't like it
Judy said

the car picture
was just one
of many I had
on my bedroom walls

I had one photograph
of Hayley Mills
in a frame
by my bed

I got it
from a magazine
on move-stars
what about Ruth?

she said
or Rebecca?
the path through the woods
was windy

there were bramble
on each side
how about Jezebel
I said

it has a certain
ring to it
don't like it
she said

gives off
a bad scene
we reached the fence
around the lake

and climbed over
she had on
that peasant
looking dress

flowered red and yellow
I caught a glimpse
of thigh
as she went over

you're not
taking it
seriously
she said

as we walked down
the grass towards
the water
sure I am

I said
I think Judy’s
a fine name
for a daughter.

Helen put dandelions
she had picked
into the pocket
of her dress

present for my mum  
she said
she likes flowers
soon be her birthday

but I don't know
how old she is  
but flowers
is the best to get

don't you think?
Benedict nodded
he'd taken her
to the grass

in the park
where dandelions
grew in abundance
she'll like them

he said
I think so
Helen said
they came out

of Jail Park
and crossed Bath Terrace
and along
by the metal fence

until they came
to Rockingham Street
she talking
about the man

who stopped her
on the way to school
a few says before
and he said

he would take her
to the seaside
if she went with him
there and then

what did you say
to him?
Benedict asked
I didn't know

what to say
he looked so scary
should have gone
to find a copper

Benedict said
I was scared
she said
so what happened?

I just stared at him dumbly
like I was an imbecile
as Dad says to me
when I sit

at the dinner table
with my mouth open
then what?
Benedict said

he took my hand in his
and it was hot
and sweaty
and I screamed at him

and he ran off
she said
good for you
Benedict said

should have
kneed him one
I was too scared
to do anything

that's why
I screamed
they went under
the railway bridge

just as a steam train
went across the bridge
and pushed grey
and white smoke

over the side
and into the sky
and she said
where would he

have taken me
do you think?
God knows
Benedict said

but not to the seaside
but he didn't say where
he kept that
dark image

to himself
and let it stay there.

The dance has exhausted,
the muscles pull
and become taut
and tense.

She remembers
Marcel’s taunt:
she could not dance
after such a night

of ***. She leans over,
ties tighter
her shoes, her
fingers fumbling,

her back aching,
limbs trembling.
She looks up,
sees the other

dancers in line,
pulling at dresses
and tights,
hair in place.

She rises, pulls
at her dress, tidies
her hair, stands
in line, trying

to focus, mind
on the now, not
last night, not on
the ***. ****,

maybe Marcel
was right.

Ole used to like
the He-Man
TV cartoon series
and would enact

the main character
about the house
and stairs
and sofa

with a toy sword
tucked in the back
of his shirt
then one day

I took him
to the cinema
to see
the big screen

film version
of He-Man
with loud
booming voices

and music
and the bad guys
looking gruesome
and so on

and he began to say
he needed the crapper
and so off we went
outside and along

to the men's crapper
then back again
and sat down
to watch the film

then after a while
he would say
he wanted
the crapper again

and so off we went
and back again
and so after
the fourth visit

I said
do you want
to go home?
he nodded

in his own unique way
and off we went home
him silent
and me wondering

and knowing
that he'd been scared
but not wanting
to admit to it

he feigned the need
for the crapper
not knowing I knew
but I kept

his street cred
and smiled
down at him
and never said.

Nothing special about the day,
Except when you sat
At that table in some street café,
And saw a young woman
Remove a rosy red apple
From her bag and brush it
Slowly against her dress
As if wishing to conjure up
A memory of some previous night.

You sat unnoticed, at least
By her, and watched her lift
The apple to her lips
And close her eyes.

The apple lingered
Held by her hand, barely
Inches from that soft
Red skin (maybe she was
Thinking of him, who made
Her the night before)
And the lips parting slightly,
Almost whispering, the tongue,
Like some pink snake, brushed
Along the lower flesh, the scent
Of apple touched her sense
Of smell like tickled ***.

You smiled to yourself,
Not her, as she opened her eyes
And took a bite and ate sedately.

(You’d not seen
That posh dame lately,
The one who stayed
And bruised your soul).

Maybe she was thinking
Of her night of love as she
Seduced each mouthful of juice
And joy and swallowed slow
And breathed the midday air.

Then she had gone,
Moved on with apple
And her memories and you
Left behind with those images
Of her and the apple
Captured in your memory,
An art form in your fertile mind.

Alice sits brushing her hair,
stroke following stroke,

her husband sitting
on the edge of the bed

watching, studying her
hand and brush going

downward and out and
downward and out, and

as he watches he suddenly
remembers his mother

doing likewise and he
standing by the doorframe

of her bedroom, sees her
hand pull the brush through

her tight black hair, and
hears her sobbing voice

over the old white radio
playing some country song,  

and senses an uneasiness
fill him like a wetting of pants,

and his mother gazing at him
in the mirror before her with

her red rimmed eyes and he
knowing as she lifts the brush

threateningly, that that way
pain comes and danger lies.

I was looking
at the books;
nothing
in particular wanted,
just browsing
the shelves, titles,
authors names,
colour and pattern
of the book covers.

Then some dame comes,
picks out a book,
opens it,
has a look,
mumbles
a few words
(poem I think),
then takes the book
to the counter,
pays and sways
her hips out of there.

I pick out
a Bukowski
poetry book,
have a look,
read a few poems,
have a laugh
(the humour
of that guy),
think I’ll buy.

I go to the counter,
and still
the perfume
of the dame lingers.

I hold
the Bukowski book
in my hand
brushing the cover
with my ageing fingers.

See Yiska
the snow
is falling

a tractor
pushes its way
through the snow
on the field

gulls and rooks
follow in its wake

the sky a dull grey
the sun wiped out
or nearly so

hear Yiska
the wind
through the trees
the birds calling

hear the snowflakes
silently falling
hear our breath
expressing
as we speak
or remain silent

feel Yiska
the snowflakes
on our faces
on our noses

hold out
your slim hand
let the palms
hold the snow

feel my closeness
sense me
drawing near

the nurses are talking
they talk
of their love lives
of the ***
they've had

hear their words
how they tease us
their words
of *******
and freedom
and normality

feel the emptiness
bite us

our nerves taut
as wire
as we walk

see Yiska
how they walk
the nurses behind us
and before us

see how
their heavy coats
hold them
their black boots
marching like troopers

hear the nattering
of their lips
and tongues

sense my mental fatigue
and yours and ours

wait Yiska
they will take us
back to the hospital soon
and lock us up
once more
in the white ward
with the dull
water coloured prints
and photographs
of yesteryears

be near Yiska
let our fingers touch
let us feel
too little
or sense too much.

Inside Burgos Cathedral
Miriam was in shorts
and tee-shirt
and I nearby

and a woman
next to her
said casa de Dios
Miriam said something

back in Spanish
and the woman
scowled at her
and moved away

muttering in Spanish
under her breath
what did she say?
I asked

Miriam said
the old bat
said this
was the house of God

and that I
was not dressed
correctly
I looked

at the woman
who was glaring
at Miriam
what did you

say to her?
I asked
I told her
go wash her *****

I nodded
and looked
at the glaring
Spanish dame

I spoke no Spanish
but whatever
the dame was muttering
didn't sound

like a blessing
I tried to focus
on the mass
the words(now

in Spanish not Latin)
Miriam folded
her arms
her eyes sharp

as pencils
her red hair
tight curls
smelling of sun oil

and scent
a guy in front
had his eyes closed
muttering a prayer

in Spanish
the priest
at the altar
was colourful

like a beetle
arms out stretched
Miriam whispered
I'll need a drink

after this
and something more
later in the tent
she smiled at me

her eyes bright
and alive
and mischievous
I had lost my way

in the mass
but the beetle priest
was lifting the host
Christ was present

and I bet
the old Spanish dame
was giving Him
the low down

on Miriam
but I knew
He'd understand
His love

was wide and deep
and Miriam and her promises
would have to wait
and keep.

She’s gone to sleep
Again, as she
Often does, but
This time on a
Train. Maybe she

Dreams of distant
Isles, bright sunshine
Beaches, clothed in
A bright green, ***
Gripping, skimpy

Bikini and
Surrounded by
To die for men,
Or maybe she
Dreams of her first

Date, the bought for
Her flowers, the
Big box of chocs,
The quick given
Kisses and the

Mismanaged ****
Or perhaps she
Dreams of the lost
Baby and the
Last long hold, or

Maybe she dreams
Of her husband
Beating her up
As he often
Did and leaving

Her out in the
Midnight’s cold, or
Perhaps she dreams
All these dreams in
Disorderly

Sequence like some
Nightmare show, all
Mixed up, drawn out
And slow. She’s gone
To sleep in a

Train, full of dark
Sorrow as she
Often is, so
Maybe she’ll not
Wake up again.

Abela sits
in the café
in the town square.

She's ordered coffee
from the waiter
with the dark moustache
who had given her
a smile
and his dark eyes
had explored her
as he moved away.

Benedict has a headache
and sleeps back
at the hotel.

They had had a row.

Words were said.

She recalls them
as she waits
for the coffee.

You were gawking at her?

I was merely looking.

You slavered
as she walked
by our table.

She wore
a strong perfume.

Benedict undressed.

Your eyes were out
like telescopes,
watching her
Yugoslavian ****.

You imagine things;
I was thinking
of her black
waitress dress.

Abela undressed.

You were thinking
of what was beneath
the black dress.

I wasn't,
you imagine
these things,
you're jealous.

He put on
his pyjamas.

Abela stood
in her underwear
staring at him.

Me?
Jealous of her?
That ******.

She's not a ******,
she's a waitress
at the hotel.

Benedict climbed
into bed.

Abela put on
her nightdress.

Your tongue
was hanging out
as she passed
the table;
she almost
fell over it.

You should be
a column writer
for a gossipy magazine.

You should admit
your guilt.

You should
open your eyes.

Abela got into bed,
pulled up the cover,
turned over
with her back to him.

No ***, then?

Not then or now.

She switched off
her side lamp
and he switched off
his side lamp.

Music played
from a bar nearby.

Voices laughed;
a girl screamed.

Abela's coffee comes,
brought by the waiter
with the dark moustache
and dark eyes.

His eyes seem
to undress her
as he walks away;
his black trousers
caressing
his fine behind.

She sips her coffee,
but he is there,
caressing her
in her mind.

Miss Pinkie
(she had dropped
the Mrs
after her divorce)
undressed slowly

she was an older
and plumper version
of Marie Antoinette

I lay on her bed
looking at her disrobe

so why
did you leave
the convent?
I asked

things happen
she said
you realize
what you are missing
or will miss

the moon was held
in the corner
of her bedroom window
like a fresh minted coin

and what was that?

what was what?

what was it
you were missing
or feared
you might miss?

children
marriage
***
she said
plunging
on her side
of the bed
and I have my son
and maybe
a grandchild one day

she turned towards me
her big blue eyes
searching me

I smiled
she had a similarity
to a hippo sunbathing
on a river bank

Mahler was playing
from her Hi-Fi
in the lounge

she put a hand
on her hip
her ******* moved
like piglets at play

sure you don't want
another drink?
she asked

no I’m fine

she ran a finger
along my thigh

my pecker stirred
from its slumber

her fingers walked
along my groin
her nails
were bright red

she had
the kind of touch
that could have
raised Lazarus
from the dead.

You cut the motor
On the mower. I’ve

Never seen the grass
Cut with so much

Enthusiasm, Father
Dean said, coming

Up along side the abbey
Church where you

Had mown, you a
Postulant monk, he

A professed monk,
Bearded (permission

Granted due to a fragile
Heart) robed in black.

He smiled, his tired
Gaze scanned where

You had been. I like it
Out in the fresh air,

You said shyly. To work
Is to pray, he said, and

To pray is to work. You
Have done both. You

Smiled and looked over
The mown stretch of

Grass beside the abbey
Church. The bell tolled

From the bell tower.
Must go, he said, the

Lord calls. He wandered
Slowly down by the back

Of the abbey and out of
Sight. Over by the side

The monk’s cemetery stood
Silent and still, the stone

Crosses marking the resting
Place of monks who had died.

Overhead, in the sky black and
Long winged rook flew and cried.

I like cloud formations
Jane said
laying on her back

in the small church yard
looking up at the sky
above her head

it’s like a form of art
you said
grey and white

against a canvas of blue
that looks like a man’s head
Jane said

the way it forms
and unforms
you followed

the pointing
of her finger at the sky
that looks like a dog

over there
you said
she looked

and then gazed at you
her blue eyes
catching the sun’s light

through a tree above
I like these moments alone
with you

she said
no one near us
no disturbance

no sounds save for birdsong
and the buzz of bees
you moved closer to her

and lay with you right hand
supporting your head
searching her eyes

her dark hair
about her face
daddy said

that Heaven is above us
and looking
at the cloud formations

I feel I see it
especially when the sun
shines through

she said
her lips moving
with slow motion

I think that sometimes
you said
she leaned nearer to you

and kissed your lips
then lay back
and stared at the clouds

and sky
and you lay back too
thinking inwardly

this is where
I’d like to lie
the day I die.

You both walked along
the narrow country lane

to the small church
and lay in the overgrown grass

in the churchyard
looking up

at the summer sky
and Jane said

It’s so peaceful here
I feel as if part of me


were mixed
with the whole


of nature
you listened to her

looking at her
sideways on

seeing her profile
laying amidst

the green grass
her head facing

the blueness of sky
her hands resting

upon her *******
with one leg straight

the other lifted upwards
with the knee bent

Do you feel that?
she asked

looking at you side wards
her eyes leaving the sky

and resting on you
Yes

you replied
but not thinking

of what she had
but of the beauty of her

and you being there
and taking note

of her eyes and hair
and moving lips

and hands at rest
and her soft youthful breast

and that glimpse
of thigh capturing

your eye
Yes

you repeated
I feel a part of that

feel almost drowned
in its beauty

and she turned
and you saw her smile

and heard birdsong
and felt the sun on skin

and the saw the expanse
of sky and clouds

white chariots moving
across the blue

and wanted that moment
for always and forever

and you reached out a hand
and touched her shoulder

and would had touched
and felt her more

had you been bolder
and she said

We lay here with the dead
but our bones and flesh

are filled with life and love
unlike theirs

wasted away
Yes

you whispered
feeling her bones

beneath the flesh
Just like us some day.

We were allowed out
of the minibus
for an hour
to explore the view
and have some refreshments
or explore where we will

don’t get lost
said the driver and guide

does he think
we're complete idiots?
Dalya said

I’ve been to Glasgow
and never got lost
and I had my brother
with me at the time
and he couldn’t find
his way to his backside
without someone
guiding his hands

let's have a look round Neustadt
I said

she walked beside me
leaving the mini bus behind
she was wearing
a red patterned top
and her blue jeans
that clung to her thighs
like a drowning sailor

not much to look at
she said
I’ve seen more to see
inside my brother’s ear

are you always this happy?
I asked

what do you mean
I am happy
just saying
what I thought

we came to a bridge
and a river
and stood there
looking at the boats
and water

O you should have seen
the Yank girl last night
O what a sight it was
she getting ready for bed
in the cramped tent
and I was laying there
already in my night clothes
trying not to look
and she was wearing
these tight *******  
that looked like
some kind
of torture contraption
red they were
with words on

what did the words say?
I asked

I don't know
it was in German
could have said
way in for all I know

anyway why would you
be interested
in what it says
on a girl's *******?

might be instructions
to a treasure trove

Dalya didn't smile
but took out a cigarette
and lit up

I lit up a smoke too
and watched boats
on the water

she's not your type
Dalya said

what's my type?

you're out of her league
she'd not let you
smell her perfume
let alone get inside
her ***** underwear

I like you
I'm not interested in
other girls
I said

just a well
she'd not be for you
she inhaled deeply
and stared ahead
at the water

anyway
when you are with me
in my tent
and she's out
can you not make
so much noise
I’m sure the Polish woman
suspects

what makes you
think that?

her look
the way she studies me
when we're together
that kind of
what a naughty girl
you are gaze

I smiled

no laughing matter
just because
her daughter's nun like
doesn't mean
I have to be

we walked on
across the bridge
some fine buildings
to our left

Dalya certainly wasn’t
nun like
the other night
I thought
remembering her
opened up
like a conquered city
waiting for the pillaging
and ***
her hands gripped tight
around my neck

the warmth
the perfume
the soft skin
she like some
harbour pilot
guiding me in.

Sitting in her wheel chair
Anne stared at the sea
from the beach
where I’d pushed her

from the home
her dark hair
toyed by the breeze
her hands

on the arms
of the chair
her one leg showing
from her short

red skirt
they say the sea
gives up its dead
she said suddenly

I nodded
they say the moon
is 283,900 miles
from the Earth

I raised my eyebrows
they say the stars
we see in the sky
at night often

have burnt out
years before
so that we are seeing
ghost stars

I looked at her head
the center parting
the straight hair
they say the sun

is 93 million miles
from our planet
I stood behind her chair
gazing at the sea

and the few swimmers
out there
do you hear me Kid?
she said

yes
I replied
I hear
then answer me

do you think
I’m talking to myself
like a loon?
no

I thought
you were thinking out loud
I said
no

I was telling you stuff Kid
she said
there was a pause
she scratched

the stump of her leg
Sister Bridget says
she's still a ******
can you imagine that?

Anne said
I looked at a ship
on the horizon
no

I said
can't imagine that
why can't you imagine that?
she asked

why can't you imagine
Sister Bridget as a ******?
I don't know
I said

she looked up at me
do you know
what a ****** is?
she asked

no
I said
that's why
I can't imagine it

she smiled
and looked back
at the sea
means she's not

had ***
with a man
Anne said
I see

I said
I looked
as she rubbed
her stump

with her left hand
are you a ******?
I asked
what do you think Kid?

I'm 12 years old
I live with my parents
I go to school
I’ve one

fecking leg
I wouldn't let
a boy touch me
if he promised me

the moon
yes
I’m a ******
I nodded my head

and looked at the sea
that's good
I guess
I said.

There is You,
my son, and You.

The You that died;
the You which we see
on rising
in photographs on walls
or framed or there
by the window;
the You staring back at us
from our mobile phones.

There's the You I saw
brought into the world
pink and small
and wanting to feed
and latch on
for the liquid food.

The You growing up
from baby to toddler,
mischievous, but loving.

The You growing
into manhood,
stoic and quiet
and brave, going about
in your own way
to climb many a mountain
of adversity
and reaching the top
and over it
and quietly smile
and unseen
in a corner, sit.

There is the You
of quiet talk,
of gentle words;
You of soft
under the breath swearing,
if the referee
had got it wrong.

There was the You who
became ill so suddenly;
the You who was let down
by medical professionals;
the You we loved,
the You whose heart
flat-lined and died.

There is You,
my son, and You.

The You who was taken
and the You whom we feel
around us still,
touching;
walking by
out of the corner
of our red rimmed eye.

It wasn't until Rowland
poked my elbow
in music class and said
hey Benny
look at the titless
one at the front
with the blonde ******

I looked to where
his finger pointed
that I noticed Yochana
for the first time
sitting at the front of class
with a blonde girl
who was shorter
but that hardly
made her a ******

-Rowland and his humour-

I studied her as Miss G
talked about Schubert
and his music
and his life

I noted the thinness
of her body

- Yochana's not
Miss G's-

the black hair
smooth and shiny
and I never thought
about her titlessness
at time but something
about her caught my eye

later after the kissing
on the cheek thing
and the day after
I kissed her hand
I waited for her
at the end of biology class
when she came out
with her friend
the blonde haired Angela

-Rowland went onto
the tuck shop
and then to
morning recess-

when she saw me there
and I smiled
she shooed her friend off
and waited by the wall

she said
are you waiting for me?

shouldn't I?

why would you?

why not?

do you always answer
questions with a question?

do you?

she smiled
and looked me
in my hazel eyes
what did you want?
she asked

to talk with you
I said

is that all?

anything else
on offer?

what other else?

I don't know yet
but I'm sure
I can think
of something
I said

I'm sure you can
she said
is that it?

are you in a rush?

my friend's waiting for me
she replied

can't your girlfriend
wait a bit longer?

she'd not my girlfriend
she's a friend
who is a girl
she said defensively

I dreamed of you
last night
I said

did you?

no you wouldn't let me

let you what?

Miss G passed us by
and walked down
the corridor
giving us
a backward stare

kiss you
I said

shame
Yochana said

yes it was
I said

we stood in the corridor
a few seconds in silence
kids passing by

you kissed my hand
the other day
isn't that enough?
she said

no
a glimpse of heaven
isn't enough
until you get there
I said

she looked past me
then at the kids
passing by

not here
maybe lunch time
some place quiet
we can maybe kiss
she said

then touching
my hand briefly
she walked off
down the corridor

and I watched her going
with a kind of yearning
my inner soul
and my body
burning.

I ride on my bike to the farmhouse
with Milka's brothers
after Saturday morning work

we dismount
and I wait with my bike
while they go in

there is a dull sun
and a wind coming across
the fields

won't you come in?
Milka's mother asks
gesturing to me
from the doorway

sure I will
I say
and walk to the house
and go into the warm kitchen

cup of tea and toast?
she asks me
the boys have gone upstairs
to change

yes that'd be nice
I say

I look about the kitchen
at the pots and pans
and shelves and cups
and the large oven range
and the table and chairs
in the corner  

sit down Benny
she says

I sit down
and she is busy
with cups and toast

I listen out to hear
if Milka is about
I watch her mother
fuss about with things
to one side

Milka about?
I ask

if she knows you're here
she'll be up
and dressed in seconds
the mother says
not turning around

I hear voices upstairs
laughter
shouts
and then Milka
come down
and into the kitchen

they said you were here
and I didn't believe them
as they are always
teasing me about you
she says

where have you been?
her mother asks

tidying my room
like you have asked me too
Milka says

about time too
never seen such a mess hole
when I was a young girl
we had to keep
our rooms tidy
the mother says

Milka pulls a face
behind her mother's back
it's done now
she moves towards me
and kisses me quickly
on the cheek

I hold her hand
and squeeze

I suppose you
want breakfast now?

yes please
Milka replies

her mother says
what do you want?

I'll get it
Milka says

she goes off to the larder
and I watch her move
her blue skirt
and white top
the buttons open
at the neck too low
(her mother would say)
the legs
the way she sways
her hips
as she walks

here you are Benny
the mother says
and hands me
a plate of buttered toast
and a cup of tea

thank you
I say

and she moves off
to the other room
and I hear her move about

Milka says
didn't know
you were coming here today?

thought you might
like to see the new Elvis film
I say

she smiles
sure if Mum'll let me
she says

she goes off
to see her mother
in the other room

I eat the toast
and sip the tea
and listen

there are hushed voices
and few sighs
then more voices

it'll be my treat
I say
I’ll treat her

Milka and her mother
come into the kitchen

it's not that
the mother says
it's just that
she's been grounded
the weekend
for misbehaviour

I look at Milka
who pouts her lips
and looks at me

I see
I say

and look at the mother
she gazes at me
and her eyes
are soft and brown

and she says
but I don't see why
you should be deprived
of her company
because of her naughtiness
she will not be allowed out
next Saturday though
she says

Milka beams
and her face lights up

and I say
thank you
I’ll have her back
in good time

the mother stares
at her daughter
and I mean about next week
she says

I know
Milka says

her mother goes off
to the other room
we kiss
and she goes off
upstairs to get ready

I finish my toast
and tea
thinking to myself
lucky me.

Christina sat outside
the science block
for the school photo

she and others in her class
some sitting
others standing

boys and girls
the teacher standing
to one side

gesturing
with her hands
for composition

the photographer
by his camera
setting things

to light and shade
and who was where
and to what degree

Christina wishing
it all over
to get lunch

out the way
to see Benedict
on the sports field

after lunch
up by the fence
or by the edge

of the woods
the teacher whispering words
hush hush

she said
now everyone be still
hold that pose

everyone stiffened
one or two grin
or look away

at the last second
but Christina sat
as if frozen

her mind elsewhere
thinking of that day
she took Benedict

home for lunch
(her mother's suggestion)
and after soup

and bread and tea
her mother gone off
to shop

she took Benedict
to tour the house
inside and out

and up the stairs
and said
this is my room

and opened the door
and they stood
looking in

the curtains drawn
the room fresh polished
the bed made

her clothes put away
(thank God)
her doll lying on top

(an old gift
still loved)
she hesitated

looking in
he beside her
their hands within inches

of touching
he said
nice room

neater than mine
and she wished
he could take her there

so she could stare
and maybe
but he lived too far

from school
for her to go
as she lived

in the town
of the school
a mere few minutes walk

downstairs
her mother's voice calling
just coming

Christina said
Benedict wanted the loo
and they walked downstairs

he in deep thought
she thinking what if
they'd been caught

once more
the photographer said
everyone keep that pose

and her thoughts moved on
to that other time
up near the wood

on the sports field
and he talking
of some teacher gone

from school
who had taken pupils
home during lunch

and she was thinking
of how near they stood
to the wood

and if only they could
but what?
she asked herself

what if they had
what would it involve?
instinct and desires

the kissing
and holding
and him being near

but what else?
ok that will do
the teacher said

all done now
the photographer said
and they were free

to move
and walk
and she moved

and got ready
to go for lunch
then see Benedict

on the field
by the fence
or by the nearby wood

and find out
what else
if she could.

She knows these are her
Last moments with her still
Born babe knows they’ll take
The babe away and leave
Her arms empty like the
Cradle at home standing
In the nursery especially
Prepared with the wallpaper
Chosen and the new carpets
Laid and she hugs the babe
Close to her ******* tries to
Bring warmth to the lifeless
Bundle wrapped in a white
Blanket and we’ll be back in
A while the nurse had said
and she left the small room
and the door clicked shut
With a small click and she
Walks the room rocking
The babe feeling the weight
Sensing her child there her
Flesh and blood and she
Wants to breathe life into
The tiny lungs want to see
Movement wants there to
Be a miracle to shock them
To say look there is life you
Must have been mistaken
But no matter how hard she
Breathes or rocks the babe
No life comes no movement
No miracle of miracles and
Out of the window as she passes
The trees have that winter
Bareness the sky the greyness
Of cannon smoke and a little
Way off a woman laughs a
Vacuum machine is turned
On and a baby cries but not
Hers for hers is silent unmoving
Becoming cold and stiff and
She kisses the pale cheek the
Forehead seeks out the small
Uncrutching hands the tiny
Curved fingers and holding
The babe up tight against her
She doesn’t want the separation
To come doesn’t want the nurse
To take away the babe in her
Arms but she knows the minutes
Tick away and the nurse will
Come and the empty arms will
Leave her broken and numb.

When I was young
I tended to think

I had forever
and cast

my time around
like a spend drift

with the shakes,
but as I get older

and I know
I am on

my last run
I tend to count

my time
like a tight-******

miser
trying to hoard

those few coins
of time.

You **** the socks; listen
To the radio; look
At the hole slowly get

Smaller and smaller. Jazz
From some far off station;
A tune you recognize,

Your foot taps up and down
To the beat. You smile; nod
Your head; let your deep thoughts

Slowly unravel like
A flower. Was that Bud
Powell? You ask, slipping the

Needle through the dark black
Material, easing
The thread through. But where was

Jack? Late. Usually he
Was home by now. You pause
Your fingers; stare at the

Needle; listen for sounds
Other than the jazz. Jack
Said he would be here his

Usual time, you tell
Yourself, looking at the
Clock on the wall. Stillness

And only Bud playing
In the background to your
Thoughts. Maybe he’s had an

Accident? Perhaps he’s
Been robbed of his wage? So
Terrible these days, the streets.

Your thoughts run amok like
Mischievous children.
You stare at the sock on

Your hand. Jack’s sock. **** these
For me, he had asked that
Morning. You push the small

Needle through again, pull
It out and slowly ease
It towards you. Maybe

He’s been caught in traffic
Or the train is late or…
Is that the door? You put

Down the sock and go to
The door. Two policemen stand
There; Bud plays soft in the

Background of the room; your
Feet no longer tap; your
Head sinks to your breast; far

Off some news is about
To break like a tidal
Wave against the calm coast

Of your life and drown you
In the great sea of grief.

She remembers him well.
He was her mother’s best
Friend, the one she went to

When she was feeling low or
Out of some product he could
Go buy and bring to her that

And his brand of comfort. She
Remembers how he would make
That loud laugh and give her

Mother that hug he gave, that
Big hearted outward show,
Those blue eyes of his bright

As polished wood. She moves
Now out of the shadows, leaves
The dark just behind, sees where

Once her mother used to stand
And prepare lunch or wash dishes,
Where he’d come behind her and

Put his arms about her and squeeze
And kiss her mother’s neck. She
Remembers him well, she as that

Little girl, the one her mother never
Really knew, the one her mother
Gave birth to (a mistake grown up)

Her mother used to say when angry
Or wild. Never my lovely child. Yes,
She remembers him, the way he

Looked at her when her mother’s
Back was turned, the way he gave
Her thigh a squeeze on passing on

Through to do some job or some
Such thing to do. She recalls how
He crept into her room at night if

Mother let him stay and sat on the
Edge and stared at her lying pretending
Sleep. She sighs, moves through her

Mother’s old house now up for sale,
Soaks in the things that hold memories,
The chairs, the beds, the sofa by the wall,

The pillow where once she laid her head.
She stares out the window at the garden
And trees and hills beyond. She stood

Here once, when young and he came
Put his arms about her and squeezed
Her young girl ******* and laughed when

She squirmed away. Mother didn’t know
Of that or if she did she didn’t say. Not
Then not later, not even when she lay

Dying from disease and had only herself
To live or die for and no other to please.
What her mother didn’t know could fill a

Book, what her mother didn’t understand
Or seem to realize was that that man
She’d brought home had ***** her young
Daughter and spread like dark oil, his sea of lies.

Jeanette looked
back at me in class
I was at the back
with Reynard

focusing
on the history lesson
as best we could
the text books open

before us
some colour picture
of a cave man
with a spear

and dressed in fur
and some cave girl
standing beside
looking **** ugly

Reynard said
in whispered breath
Jeanette’s eyes
were focused on me

dark looking
her hair long
and dark
thin hands

and frame
she looked away again
her narrow shoulders
full to view

the teacher
was chalking words
upon the board
sentence

after sentence
in a measured script
I thought about
the quick peck

on Jeanette's cheek
at lunch recess
just so
quick in and out

before she had time
to say or breathe
or feel the affects
to make her swoon

or sick or both
I scribbled
on the exercise page  
in untidy scrawl

Reynard muttering
comments
about the cave girl's ****
about hair

under her arms
but I was focused
on Jeanette’s line
of curve

the way her
narrow waist
went in and out
so narrow

I’d get my arms
all about
dark hair
on her shoulders

smooth
well brushed
or combed
the head

at an angle
as if to scrutinize
the writing
on the board

take in the words
and sense
and write it down
in her (I imagined

far finer hand
than mine
going by the smooth
movement

of her fingers and pen)
maybe I could
kiss her again
I thought

some place
some when.

You walked from the Downs
having seen the sights
Jane wanted
to show you

the view of the farms
the houses
the sheep wool
caught on wire fences

the church tower
small
like some frail snail
and she talked

of birds and flowers
and having seen
this butterfly
(unknown to you)

and her finger pointing
as it fluttered by
and you took in
her dark hair

her eyes
brown lighter
in sunlight
her pale complexion

the grey dress
white socks
old shoes
(for walking on

rough places
she said)
and she showed you
the hollow tree

and you went inside
and sensed her
near you
the smell of apples

and soap
and you felt the need
to kiss her
but didn't

just let it pass
dream maybe
of having done so
and you listened

to her words
how you wanted
to take each syllable
and hold

and turn it over
like fresh fruit
and squeeze
the meaning from each

and when you reached
the lane you paused
and she smiled
and said

you're quick to learn
yes I guess I am
you said
and you took her

into the cottage
and your mother
was washing clothes
in the big copper

steam coming out
and she standing there
sweat on her forehead
and you introduced her

to Jane and they talked
and you watched
and saw how
thin she was

how small her *******
easing against
the dress cloth
and your mother

nodding her head  
and they smiled
and talked
and you wondered

how the fingers
of your mother's hands
got to be so red
and such

but guessed it must
be the water
and soap suds
and years

of washing clothes
in damp
and that old ringer
she used to have

and how you loved
to see the water squeezed
from it like clear blood
and Jane looked at you

and you wanted
to swim in her dark eyes
and find the essence
of her soul

then she looked away
and deep inside
you wanted her
always to be

and never
to go away.

Perhaps tomorrow
I can hang
around with him
Sheila thinks of

the boy John
but after dinner
and bed
and dreams of him

and such
maybe then
it will be that way
she sits at the table

as her mother
brings meals
and she opposite
her brother

and  next to her father
on one side
and her mother
on the other

when she sits down
and all Sheila can do
is eat but ponder
on the boy

and what he will say
and she tries
to keep him at bay
in her mind

and thoughts
as she eats
but he keeps on
pushing through

into her thoughts
and being
and her brother says
why the long face?

what do yo mean?
the long face
he repeats
like you've lost

a long lost love
he adds laughing
you do look
kind of miserable

her father says
trouble at school?
no nothing
she says  

pushing her thin
wired glasses
up on her nose
where they'd slipped

long lost love indeed
her mother says
she don't need no
love nonsense yet

if at all
Sheila looks
at the clock
on the mantel shelf

the tick tock of it
trying to focus on
the tick tock
bet she's found

some boy to
swoon over
her brother jokes
holding his fork

half way to his mouth
don't know any boys
she says
don't want to either

she adds
good for you
her father says
enough to worry about

with school without
the added problems
with boys
and that lark

young girls
have no need of boys
her mother says
sitting regal in her chair

pushing back
a loose strand of hair
Sheila tries to smile
as if its' all a joke

as if I need a boy
to add to my life
and woes
what woes do you have

her father says
young kid like you?
she says nothing
forking in her meal

hoping the boy
will let her
go about
with him still.

And the young schmuck said,
How’s about a nice
Pretty photograph,



Girls, something to show
The folks back home, you
In your beautiful



Bathing costumes, so
Young and so well wrapped
Up there? Sure, Betsy



Said, why not, though don’t
Think my daddy’d be
Too pleased about me



In this here costume.
You looked at the schmuck
And tried hard not to



Imagine the dark
Working of his brain,
What images lay



There, what ******
Thoughts swirled around there
Like black oil in a



Sump. Sally looked just
Away from him, looked
Further up the beach



Or maybe the sea
Or sky, anywhere
But the young guy with



The camera, her
Being the quiet
Type and shy. But you



Knew his type, they were
Like haemorrhoids: a
Huge pain in the ****,



Always there with the
Words, the wise cracks, with
Their slimy sayings;



But you knew all they
Ever wanted from girls,
Beyond the mouthy



Outpourings, was you
In the bed or some
Secret place and to



Be undressed and to
Copulate with, to
Have their way; but not



With you; you knew the
Goings on, you knew
Which way those kind of



Things ended and you
Knew that even though
Betsy gave him the



Smile and ease, she’d not
Settle for such a
Creep with his false smile,



Wheedling words or
Bright eyed stare. So he
Took his photograph



And you were captured
There on the beach in
New Orleans amongst



The other young folk,
Beneath a sky of
Blue, in your bathing



Costumes, beautiful
And youthful in the
Year of our sweet Lord,
1922.

Coming out
of Mr Dubbin’s room
you saw Sophia
standing there

with mop and bucket
and that Bardot smile
I thought you’ be
up here somewhere

she said
putting down
the mop and bucket
I’m busy Sophia

I need to get baths done
before lunchtime
she placed a hand
across the doorway

to block you in
surely you don’t want
to rush off
without being with me

a few moments?
she said
moving in closer
her perfume hitting you

her eyes focusing
on each feature
and muscle move
not just now

you said
maybe later
she stood nearer to you
her thigh blocking

any further movement
without you touching her
what would people think
if I said you tried to kiss me?

she said softly
but I haven’t
you said
we know that

but others don’t
she said
but that would be a lie
you said

sure
she said
but all is fair
in love and war

they say
you felt the door handle
behind you
and pushed it down

and the door opened
and you walked back
in the room
and she followed

and closed the door
behind her
and stood there
the Bardot smile

in place once more
I’ve got work to do
you said
baths to do

she pushed you back
on Mr Dubbin’s bed
and moved on top of you
and lay there

gazing down at you
isn’t this nice?
she asked
isn’t this better

than bathing
old men?
or wiping
old men’s arses?

I’m paid to do that
not this
you said
feeling her taut ****

pressing into your chest
her hands each side
of your head
on the bed

kiss me
she whispered
not now
you said

I have only to scream
and people will come running
and see you
on the bed with me

she said
her blonde hair caught
sunlight from the window
across the room

her eyes studied you
reflecting your image
in both pupils
you kissed her lips

sensed the skin
the waxy lipstick
the parting of her mouth
the red lips

ah
she said softly
that was good
was it not good?

she asked
you nodded
wanting her
to get up and go

and yet
as she moved off
and stood
by the door

and smiled
her Bardot smile
you wanted
(much against

your better judgment)
for her to stay  
and kiss some more
awhile.

It’ll not be the first time he’ll
Have said that and not meant
It and she knows oh how she
Knows that he will probably
Say it again and bring her the
Usual flowers and maybe a new
Dress two sizes too big for her
And have that look on his face
That look he used to give his
Mother when he was late home
Or if he’d not noticed her having
Had her hair done and she knows
He’ll get down on his knees and
Pretend to beg for forgiveness
Yet at the back of his mind he’s
Already imagining the girl in the
Office bent over her desk and him
Doing what he thinks he does best
And now as she waits for him to
Come home knowing he’ll have
The words sitting on the end of
His tongue like obedient puppies
Ready for the false apology and
The flowers in one hand and the
Maybe new dress in the other and
Even though she will be able to
Smell the other woman’s scent and
See her hairs on his jacket he’ll
Have that dumb look about him
As if butter wouldn’t melt as if ice
Wouldn’t drown his drink and as
She waits for him she really just
Wants him not to come home at
All wants him to stay with the other
Woman soak into her sheets and
Into her skin with his two bit morality
And sin oh that he didn’t come home
At all she mumbles as she hears his
Key in the lock and that stupid look
On his face as the door opens up and
The flowers and bag with dress in each
Hand and hair limp by the rain she knows
He’ll say he loves her and she knows he
Will do it again the liar her lover the pain.

She waited for me
by the water tower
her bike by the hedge
her hands on her hips
her dark hair
hanging loose
untied by ribbons
or bow

I’d finished
my schoolboy work
at the farm
weighting milk
and cleaning out
the cow sheds

been waiting
she said

had to finish my work
I said

you said 1pm
and it's 1.20pm now

she looked at me
with an unhappy face

can't be helped
I said

where we going?
she said
are your parents home?

well my mother is
my father's at work
in the woods
a few miles away

where can we go then?
she said moodily

there's an empty cottage
down the lane
back there
I said

can we get inside?

no it's locked
but there's a shed

she sighed
maybe spiders or such
she said

maybe there are
maybe mice too

yuk don't like them

where to go then?
I said  

she got her bike
and we walked towards
the cottage where I lived

must be some place
we can go
she said

I knew what she was after
and I didn't want to
at least not yet

what about the woods?
she asked
must be a quiet spot there

I guess so
I replied

so we walked up the drive
a muddy drive with trees
on either side and bushes  

wasn't there a hollow tree
up here somewhere?
she said
that one we went to
a few months back?

I looked ahead
I remembered the last time
I took her there
she started to undress
and I told her it might be
unwise in case
some one came along
she wasn't happy that time
I knew she wanted
to have ***

but what if some one
came along?
I said

she had been moody
for hours afterwards

it's up on the left
I said

can we go there?

what for?

you know
we could have ***

I sighed
is that all
you think about?

when I'm with you
she said

what about nature
the trees
birds
butterflies?

what about them?
just because that other girl
you see is a dull cow
doesn't mean I have to be

she's not dull
she's full of knowledge
about nature
and wild life

O big deal
Lizbeth said

I stopped on the drive
looked back
from where we had come from

well where now?

where's the hollow tree?

up further
on the left
I said

so she walked on
and I followed
studying her swaying hips
and black dress
black stockings
and shoes muddied
by the muddy drive

the hollow tree came up
on our left
and she ran up to it
and went inside

I followed her
determined not to
no matter how much
she moaned and tried.

You would have loved
Edinburgh Ole
another place
you never got to see

you wanted to go
I know
I could have been
your guide

I know the place
like the back
of my proverbial hand
could have taken you

along Princes Street
taken you up
Scott's Monument
up the narrow stairs

to the top
or in the gardens below
with flowers
and seats

the bushes
or up
the Royal Mile
with all its history

and sights
we could have gone
into the Castle
and viewed

each historical inch
(you would have
dug that all
that silent history

waiting
to be ****** in)
the one 0' clock gun
the view from the top

over all the city
but I can see you now
making your own
way there

(in spirit)
in your own
good time
walking in

your own casual pace
in your Doors tee-shirt
and blue jeans
the dark shades

the hair fresh cropped
short maybe
showing the scars
your smile(great smile)

taking in
a few bars
on the way
breathing in

the smell of beer
and scotch a
small taster
in your silver case

in your back pocket
you standing
on Arthur's Seat
having walked

to the top
(maybe breathless)
and seeing
the horizon

beyond the City's touch
enjoy Ole
make it
when you can

miss you
my son
my Ole
my man.

I gazed into her deep eyes;
there men's souls were lost;
love was there, but what the cost.

Mrs Oldham
on the slow train
to the castle
held your hand

between her thigh
and yours
beneath her coat
although it was summer

and the day was hot
in case some one saw her
and told her husband
hey I saw your old lady

with some young guy
holding hands
but no one did
and as you walked

around the castle later
listening to the guide
looking at pictures
and furniture

and suits of armour
you couldn’t get out
of your mind
the picture of her

taking you home
while her husband
was working
and her dog barking

and her saying
shut up Napoleon
he’s here as a guest
and taking your jacket

and sitting you down
on the sofa
and offering you drinks
and talking of babies

and how her husband
didn’t want them
and all he wanted
was the *** side

and the *****
and cigarettes
and you sat there
thinking of how tight

together her **** were
under her pink top
and wondering
how she made love

and if she enjoyed it
as she brought you
coffee and sat beside you
her hand on your thigh

rubbing it upward
and downward
all the while talking
some music playing

some crooner
called Como
or some such guy
and her lips on your neck

******* and kissing  
you wondering
what her husband was doing  
and what he was missing.

Benny's on the edge
and he can't quite
pull himself back
from it

and o sure
Sonya says
it'll be ok
he knows it's

just words
and words are like
spittle in the wind
at the moment

let's go
to the coast
and see the sea
that'll make you ok

sure a bit of seascape
it'll do the trick
and so they go
and it's a long

bus ride away
the other passengers
other riders
of a storm maybe

by the look
on the faces
anyway they go
jogging along

by the bus
he looking out
the window untalkative
she rabbiting on

like talking
was going out
of fashion  
and he shuts her out

just nods his head
now and then
and turns
and smiles

like some broken
hearted clown  
and his mind dark
as one in a storm

shutting up shutters
bolting up doors
then after an hour
they're there

the seascape
the beach full of stones
not sand
and there stand

gaping
she talking
of the time
they stayed before

and had ***
for hours on end
in that cheap hotel
back in town

but he just gazes
lifelessly
with the fixed grin
of a saddened clown.

Baby day.
That was it,

that day her
baby died,

stiff and white,
the Teddy,

dumb looking,
sat staring,

just a toy
not caring.

Early day
is the worse

of all times,
when her world,

baby world,
ceased to be,

and numbness
took over,

dark hours,
days and months,

and now years.
None went there,

baby's room,
except her;

the husband
ignored it,

the others,
grandparents,

other kids,
past tense talked

baby's death,
turned blind eye

to the place
of the death.

She alone
visited

each morning
to check cot,

pat Teddy,
tidy up

the blankets,
one pillow,

and pull down
the toy string

making an
angel sing.

Then each night
she repeats

rituals
of palm blown

soft kisses
to the spot

where ghostly
baby smiles

phantom lips,
that no one,

except she,
and teddy,

ever see.

Baruch could hear
Fay's father
bawling her out
along the balcony

his  Catholic platitudes
filling the air
he watched
from a safe distance

as Fay's fair hair
was caught
by sunlight
her father's

dark expression
like black clouds
on a summer's day
Pater Nosters

rose and fell
then he went indoor
and left her
standing there

the echo of his voice
staining the air
Baruch waved to her
and she descended

the stairs
to the balcony below
and along
where Baruch stood

what was that all about?
he asked
the nuns
reported me

meeting you
after school
the other day
she said

your daughter
is meeting the Jew
they'd said
he said

Fay looked back
behind her
as she touched
Baruch's arm

you're not to meet
the Jew boy
he was shouting
said he'd give me

a good hiding
if I saw you again
she said
looking up

at the balcony above
Baruch looked
at her fair hair
let loose

unfettered by bow
or ribbon
over her
blue dress

guess we mustn't
be seen then
he said softly
by Burton's window

in half hour
she said
and fled
along the balcony

and up the stairs
to her father's flat
Baruch watched
her go

the sway
of her dress
the hair in flow
then gone

from sight
just going out
he said
to his mother

at her ironing
in the front room
ok
she said

be careful
and so he
went down the stairs
and across the Square

down the *****
and along Rockingham Street
under the railway bridge
and along by

the back
of the cinema
and on to
the New Kent Road

down the subway
along the echoing passage
thinking of Fay
and her father

and his ways
he whistled
as he walked
his sound echoing

along the walls
a Hebrew tune
he'd heard
whistling loud

like a noisy bird
then up the steps
to the place to meet
by Burton's window

on the corner
of St George Road
traffic
racing by

waiting for Fay
her beauty
to greet
his Jewish eye.